Resurgence
by achillax
Summary: The murder of Ginny Weasley, the assassination of the Minister of Magic and the apparent death of the Chosen One catalyses a series of changes across the wizarding world.
1. Chapter 1

**Resurgence**

**Summary  
**  
The murder of Ginny Weasley, the assassination of the Minister of Magic and the apparent death of the Chosen One catalyses a series of changes across the wizarding world. Events unfold with great speed and are influenced by a large number of parties with their own aspirations and interests.

This story is quite heavily influenced by the Bourne Trilogy, Black Hawk Down and the Hunt for Red October. This story is influenced by a number of authors such as Robert Ludlum, Tom Clancy, Robert North Patterson etc. I would also like to acknowledge the influence of a number of reviewers from and . Their advice has proven invaluable despite the multiple iterations that this story has had to take. My style of writing, as can be seen between the prologue and the first chapter has changed quite substantially.

As always, I welcome all reviews.

**Prologue**

28th July 2009

**_Wraxton Theatre, Diagon Alley_**

Ginny Weasley was a well trained actress. She had the right level of lip quivering down to a pat and could do that stiff upper lip in tripe. Ask her to warble and she would make you swoon. Method acting was her forte, the muses her divine. One didn't race past Celestina Warvick's chart position on debut without talent, sheer beauty and an enchanting personality. She was the toast of high society, a fabled actress, her theatre show booked for the entire summer.

It had taken her 10 years, a brief spell in the Quidditch ranks, and a network of contacts to reach this status of celebrity. She had her string of auror fiancées, quidditch one night stands and stalkers already. The fame had pitfalls too. The Daily Prophet kept highlighting her as an airhead and her numerous dalliances had already sparked an anti-Weaslette morality squad. As with any other major celebrity, she had had her death threats and love notes reported, highlighted and crossed off.

It had been a hard day's work for her with punishing schedules. A power nap was required.

It was a peaceful world now. Ten years of rebuilding and renewal had its discouraging moments, but this was a society that had recovered from that terror. There was a population boom ongoing with new immigrants pouring by the dozen and romance in the air.

Ten years had however proven stale the theory that personalities with opposite characteristics could be a perfect match for each other. To the surprise of some and the grim prediction of others, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were finally completing their long drawn divorce. It had taken them a decade to determine that puppy love and declarations of love in the heat of battle didn't imply a successful long term relationship. There had always been rumblings of discontent and fissures of despair in this courtship. Ignoring long term disputes however was an art that both of them had perfected and a lack of communication made this even worse.

Ron Weasley's numerous failed attempts to rise from being a mediocre Quidditch goalkeeper for the Cannons had played its part in his recent bout of depression. Things had not quite turned out as the Mirror of Erised had proclaimed. There had been the Quidditich captaincy and winning the hand of the fair maiden. His recent shin injury had cast him out for the rest of the season and boredom never suited him well. Hermione's recent successes in the Department of Magical Investigation, on the other hand, had exacerbated his insecurities and his paranoia. Ginny had tried to pull him out of his endemic insecurity but her successes had intensified his gloom.

Hermione was now a Class 1 Investigator, able to authorise investigations into cases dealing with major personalities or the public interest. Going on wild goose chases was a skill she had developed at Hogwarts, and this career had seemed appropriate. The cases weren't as exciting (working on recovering Lucius Malfoy's untold and unaccounted wealth was not really the same as hunting him down) as hunting for a philosopher's stone but the pay was good, the post was prestigious and the publicity allowed her to push her own causes. The House Elf Foundation was a non starter and was currently in hibernation due to a lack of funding but it was on Hermione's to do list. Her interests ranged from publishing her own column in the Daily Prophet to meddling in Ginny's romantic life. Despite numerous requests from Ginny for her to back off, the introductions and invitations kept coming. Ginny suspected Hermione was attempting to live her fantasies through Ginny's dalliances.

Bill Weasley was now a happily married man, sleeping with the most desirable woman in all of France. Fleur Delacour was obnoxious, stuck up and yet quite obviously in love with Ginny's eldest brother. Tolerating her was something that Ginny had gotten used to. Bill still loved being a curse breaker for Gringotts, travelling across the world on myriad trips to bring back long forgotten treasure. There had been a hair-raising escapade in the Amazon last week, but his arrival back home had been one of intense physicality. Fleur was now working as an assistant professor at Hogwarts for Charms, giving that class a ready boost in popularity. The gender ratio for that class was now heavily skewed and absences were nowhere in sight.

Charlie Weasley, on the other hand, was celebrating 15 years of bachelorhood with a month long stag night. Romanian witches were notorious for letting their hair down for anyone closely linked to dragons and this promised to be one of those nights that would be talked about for years. Ginny had already received an owl from Charlie detailing his apologies for being unable to attend her premiere due to the numerous kegs of butterbeer, dragon's breath and strip snap sessions being played over the next week. Getting married to that vampire for one night in a Transylvanian chapel had been the highlight of his week so far. His half chopped off ear from the Great War had been surprisingly attractive to a colony of vampires based near Constanta. Travelling across the Carpathian range to monitor dragon migration patterns had lead to lack of revelry and that intoxicating mead was too good to resist. As they say in vampire lores, one bite led to another and that chapel was readily boarded.

Percy Weasley was happily married to Penelope Clearwater in a traditional wedding blessed by the honorary ex minister Cornelius Fudge. Percy had always maintained a soft spot for the beleaguered politician and was careful to keep his political networks alive to enable him to make his next leap. Ginny had not met up Percy for a while now, primarily due to clashing timetables and general reticence on both sides to overcome the awkwardness of events based in the distant past. Percy now worked as a deputy for Rufus Scrimgeour, the leader of the Wizengamot, second in line, in the chain of command. He was considered a rising political protégé, one whose speeches and public events could only grow in recognition. He offered an ideal platform for the public to reach out to – a young, fresh orator with a happy family, and a long pedigree of political experience and an extended family of pureblood Order of the Phoenix members. Ginny thought he was still a stuck up prick.

Fred & George had expanded their ongoing public concern, the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to encompass two further branches based in Hogsmeade and Paris. Tricking those French veelas into parting with their fortune and virtue was an activity that both of them revelled in. On the other hand, meddling in their sister's romantic liasions was now considered passé for them, a fact that Ginny was grateful for. The investment made by Harry had paid off substantially, with returns exceeding initial investment by the second year of running.

And thinking of Harry…

"Ginny!!!". Ginny awoke from her musings, the pixie voice highlighting its pleading. Pondering over ten years of history was not the way to spend her small breaks between rehearsals. The opening was tonight, the culmination of two months of a million galleons worth of spending. This was to be the greatest theatre act ever displayed in the wizarding world. The Parable of Nicholas Flamel – it was to be a tribute and a celebration, of the man who began the original pantheon of current wizarding heroes. Casting for the role of Perenelle had been highly competitive, and her contacts needed to be fully utilised for a role of this magnitude. For a public nostalgic on the golden past and the upcoming decade celebration of the end of the Great War, this could be a critical cultural success.

"What?"… stated Ginny, sleepily. Ethel, her stage manager, was really getting on her nerves today. Running through 10 rehearsals in a week was sheer madness, even for a play of such magnitude.

"Your guests have just arrived" stated the wizened old witch.

"Huh.. There's still an hour for the show. They were supposed to be walking into the premiere with me?" frowned Ginny.

"Alright, fine. Who's here anyway?" she said.

"Well there's that depressed redhead, then those two annoying twin redheads with their bulging pockets, the redhead with that gorgeous Veela, and that investigator. " stated Ethel with a straight face.

It had a nice half hour nap and now she had the ribbons to cut, autographs to sign and sultry pouts to make. It had been a nice reminiscence. Reminding herself of the need to actually make an effort to wear something slutty and yet oozing class, she rifled through her wardrobe. After spending another half hour searching, preparing and wearing a her long black dress, it was time to leave. She closed off her wardrobe and then heard a book fall. She opened up her wardrobe again. There was a little black book at the bottom of the shelf, one that she hadn't seen before. It had a dark binding and was plain. It looked a bit worn down from use. Ginny Weasley never used diaries.

She sought to pick it up and then shrunk away. Her memories of her first year were still embedding an innate fear of strange books in her. She wrested her paranoia away and held the book. Her wand was drawn for any strange activity. She opened it up. It was blank. It was a blank diary.

Shaking her hands, she searched for a pen, a pencil, anything… She found an unused quill at the end of her chair. She picked it up and started writing, ready to curse the book to oblivion if she felt even a hint of tremor. The first words she wrote stayed on the pages. She stared at them for a few minutes, willing them to stay on and not sink down deep inside the book. The ink was a bit smudgy but stayed put. She kept on writing, mixing incoherence with panic. The ink stayed as it was, not a hint of activity. There were no voices calling back to her, no words oozing out of the ink used by her, not a menace in sight. She flipped through the pages in a hurry, back and forth; try to chance down even a hint of activity. The book stayed put.

She put the book down and breathed a gentle sigh. She started giggling, a low murmur that eventually became a full blown laugh. It was ironic, a nightmare of her childhood, that could actually come back and still haunt her. Those deep manipulated words still haunted her. Their impact was still prevalent. She picked up the book and chucked into the bin. It must have been either a sick joke or an innocent prank. There were no more monsters and no more dangers to make her paranoid. Constant vigilance really was not needed in this age.

Ginny ran out of the room, late already for an event for which she had to be late. She failed to notice, a dark green gleam from the bin, highlighting her room briefly.

The photo session with Daily Prophet had been bearable enough. Inane questions were asked about what she looked for in an ideal date, her favourite dress, her motives, her ability to act, her fears and loves and finally, her designer dress. The headlines tomorrow seemed likely to be positive, catapulting her into a level of celebrity that she had been aiming for ages.

The play started smoothly enough, with her role requiring her to play the supposedly grieving widow, preyed on by unworthy suitors, unable to turn them down and unable to turn them away. The first half of the play was coming to an end. A cliff hanger was in sight, with the appearance of her on stage husband, as a dark hooded suitor. Her lines were completed; she had to stay mute for another five minutes. Allow the heroes to be heroes and the villains to be villains and her to play the fair damsel in distress. She looked into the audience for a reaction till now. The audience were glued to their seats, seated in expectation. Everyone was intently following the story. A critical reception seemed valid. Hermione sat rapt in attention, trying to understand the complexities involved in the story. There were other friends too, back from her school days. Michael Corner was watching her intently, following her every move and every expression. He had been distant to her since a decade back, a sign that ex boyfriends should be kept as ex.

The scene ended and the audience stood up in a standing ovation for the halfway break. There was a further hour to go, but this reception was the culmination of her dreams. She had finally arrived. People started moving to the front of their seats seeking autographs and pictures. This was her moment and she took it with relish. She was hugged by her family, congratulated by her friends and gazed at distantly by Michael. She stood on the stage and waved him over. He moved slowly, shifted around and started walking lankily towards her. He was a few metres away when a loud bang interrupted the proceedings.

She turned around. It was simply Fred showing off some new merchandise. Those two were marketing geniuses. She turned back around. Michael was close to her personal space now. "Michael" she stated. He dropped in and briefly touched her lips. She felt cold. Something was scrapping off, tugged to her lips. She came back and felt skin flakes on her lips scraped off Michael's face. Michael pulled back, his face melting down. His hands start condensing, a colloidal mixture of flesh and bone arising. There was alert stride about him, almost ready to strike.

Michael swung back, took out a small metallic object and fired two clicks. It seemed like one of those "guns" that her father termed muggle wands. They hit her point blank, one in her chest, and one in her face. The lacerations induced by the collision were deep. The shock hit her first. Her breathing stopped and her lungs started to collapse. Her brain started shutting down. She fell down and started breathing her last sighs, coughing up blood. Her nervous system started shutting down, one axon after another. All those dreams and all those battles were now fought. These times were finally changing. This was her moment. Her proudest day and here she was, amidst the adulation, down on her feet. The last sight she saw prior to closing her eyes was Michael's face, stripping off, with skin hanging down and flashes of green light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

**The Daily Prophet**  
Wednesday, July 29, 2009  
**FRONT PAGE**  
**BULGARIAN AMBASSADOR SAID TO BE LINKED WITH FUGITIVE DEATH EATER LUCIUS MALFOY**

**London, July 29th 2009**

The Ministry of Magic expelled the Bulgarian Ambassador and three other high-ranking Bulgarian diplomats today in connection with the worldwide manhunt for Lucius Malfoy, who is believed to be an important link in the remnants of the death eater network. The suspect is being sought in the brutal killing of two British aurors and an Unspeakable in Sofia on June 20th. These three killings have led the aurors here and in Sofia to what they feel is the trail of a major network of internationalised death eaters. In the search for Lucius after the killings, Bulgarian and British aurors discovered large polyjuice and Draught of Living Death caches that have linked Lucius to major acts of violence in Sofia, London and Scotland and led them to suspect a connection between many extremist Pureblood organisations and the recent upsurge in violence throughout Europe.

Reported Seen in Diagon Alley, London Since then, Lucius has been reported seen primarily in London and occasionally in Paris, Tripoli, Casablanca, Sofia .…

**The Quibbler Monday, July 29th, 2009  
Syndicated Dispatch **

**A TRAP FOR THE DARK LORD's RIGHT HAND**

LONDON (QB)—Wands and whores, potions and enchanted robes, a fat billfold, international portkeys to romantic places and nice apartments in a half dozen world capitals. This is the portrait emerging of a modern age former death-eater being sought in an international manhunt.

The hunt began when the man answered his doorbell in Sofia and brutally murdered two British aurors and an Unspeakable. It has put two ambassadors, four diplomats and a dozen ministry officials into custody in 3 capitals, all accused of offenses in his wake. The accused himself has vanished, perhaps in Berlin, the British Aurors believe. In the past few days in Sofia, those acquainted with him have described him to reporters as good looking, courteous, well educated, wealthy and fashionably dressed. But his associates are men and women who have been called the most dangerous in the world. In addition to his past dalliances with the Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, he is also said to be linked with the Grindelwald's Army, the PureBlood Front, the Vampyric Moment and numerous other rightwing extremist organisation across Europe.

When the suspect travelled—to Paris, to Tripoli, to Berlin — explosions went off; massacres occurred and there were kidnappings. A breakthrough occurred in Sofia when a French death-eater terrorist broke under questioning and led the two aurors and the unspeakable to the suspect's door in Paris on June 27. He killed all four, torturing them slowly and escaped. Police found some of his disguises and notebooks containing "death lists" of prominent people.  
Yesterday the Wizarding Wireless Network (WWN) stated that aurors were hunting for the suspect's son, Draco Malfoy for questioning in the triple slaying. A Ministry of Magic spokesman stated, "We are not denying the report," but added that there was no charge against him and he was wanted only for questioning.  
Lucius Malfoy comes from a rich lineage of pureblood wizards. He was educated at Hogwarts and speaks fluent French, German and Bulgarian. In Hampstead, a spokesman for the Malfoy Trust stated that Lucius is the son of Abraxas Malfoy, the 70-year-old pureblood fanatic currently residing in Vienna. However, they deny that "either father or son have any present connections to any known Death Eater or rightwing extremist organisations." He also told reporters he did not know where Lucius was now.

**London, July 30th 2009**

Knockturn Alley. The teeming final extension of Diagon Alley that is no part of the rest of high street, except in spirit. A tainted spirit that runs deep into souls of wizardry without regard for the harsh, irrelevant artificial practicalities of morals and laws. Power and riches are one, and it is the will of this spirit that determines how these wizards will use these resources – again without regard for such empty abstractions such as freedom or confinement. The concern is only with empty stomachs, with women's stomachs, children's stomachs – the survival of the old race. Survival. There is nothing else. All the rest are dung to be spread over the infertile fields – preys to be slayed prior to the Great Awakening.

It was sundown, and both in Knockturn Alley and in the Ministry of Magic, in the great forecourt at the end of Diagon Alley. An unseen blanket was gradually being lowered over the outpost's daylight chaos. The screeching discounts of the street merchants were muted with the shadows, and quiet negotiations in the upper regions of the cold, majestic structures of glass and steel that marked the lane's embellishments were ending with nods and shrugs and brief smiles of silent accommodation. Night was coming, a final proclamation by a blinding orange sun, piercing the last immense, jagged fragmented wall of clouds in the west. A few final sharply defined shafts of energy about to plunge over the horizon, unwilling and yet reluctantly parting from this world. Darkness would soon spread across the sky, but not below. Below, the blazing lights of magic would softly illuminate the earth - this part of the earth where good and evil were avenues away from access and conflict. Soon other games would begin, games the human race still engaged in, games that the magical world had perfected.  
A small carriage sped through the Alley, heading towards the main thoroughfare. To a disinterested observer, it was merely one more line of tired rich henpecked wizards driving their lazy kids whom. Broomsticks were so passé. Patrols by the Ministry of Legal Enforcement (MLE) would not care about stopping such insignificant transgressors, in these relaxed times.

The small carriage with its covered canvas enveloping both sides of the its enclosed space, cut down its speed and cautiously zigzagged through the scattered vendors returning to their enclosures. One after another, the vendors shrieked angry curses at the intruder, at its temerity, its disrupting tendencies and its impending wake. Then each went mum, quieted down, a sight shaken as the vehicle marched forward – a sight under the canvas quieting their fury.

The carriage raced paced Diagon Alley, past Ollivander's, the pet shop and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It emerged onto a grand brightly lit path bordered by goblin statues, a launchpad to the Ministry of Magic. Five minutes later, the first thestral stopped, swerving slowly to avoid the hail of memos coming down its path. The carriage came to a slow, unimpeded halt. The hordes of vendors setting up their nightly stalls paid it no attention; it was merely another self important visitor coming in for a political favour. Who cared?

Then, like vendors on the Alley, the stalls on the thoroughfare nearest to the carriage began to quiet down. Voices were toned down, the screeching commands giving way to whispers and gossip as eyes were drawn to a figure climbing out of the carriage and onto the footpath.

He was a druid, his tall shrouded figure, entombed by his long white beard, draped in a pure white shroud that accentuated his tall slender body. He was nearly six feet in height, perhaps. His face was obscured, the cloth loosely fitting and yet pressed across his dark features. The whiteness of his blood shot eyes were drawn out. This was no ordinary preacher of tongues and wiccan. He was a holy druid, a powerful zealot who could have undergone years of mastery in wild, a chosen one. A one chosen wisely – tall, slender and zealous eyes were always a great combination to draw attention to oneself, highlight the fear and awe, primarily fear. This is how attention was drawn, power distributed and influence gathered.

Perhaps this druid came from one of the many solstice sites scattered around the country, perhaps even from Stonehenge – or even a religious order based in Scotland. Guardians of a time that was now lost, perhaps forever. Few ever boasted of understanding their teaching, or even basking in their lectures. The fear was overpowering. Give alms to these spirits, give obeisance to them. Why bother bringing upon the evils of the world upon your family?

The white robed figure walked slowly through the parting crowds onto the platform, past the causeway and onto the palatial entrance – and then disappeared into the growing crowd within the Ministry. The cause for hysteria was gone, the pandemonium could now return.

The druid headed west within the Great Hall, until he reached the Second Level, a once beautiful forecourt, buried under mounds of paper and dust. He then turned south and headed for the third floor, a giant archive of pleas and grants. Both the plea bargainers and the judges took notice of the holy one, as he passed by crowded legal task-forces and lobbying desks. There were huge billboards hawking lawyer discounts : NO WIN NO FEE CLAIMS. SUE YOUR MINISTRY WITH DELIGHT; SEEN A DARK MARK ABOVE YOUR PROPERTY IN 10 YEARS, SUE THE MINISTRY; WE TAKE ALL TYPES OF CASES, EXCEPT BESTIALITY.

He walked through the throng for nearly twenty minutes, now and then acknowledging glances with slight bows of his head, a raise of his right hand and glare from his eyes. A sign came along, the man turned left, and raised a pearly wand. A few flicks, and a small infantile creature appeared – a house-elf with a jute bag, tightly sealed. The man kept walking through the raised entrance to a cabinet room. The house-elf stayed put, instructions provided previously, on guard. Its eyes darted about the floor. The mob seemed crazy, it was insane to be here for a task like this. It would protect the druid with its life, no mattes what the logical insensibilities involved.

Inside the cabinet room, heavy layers of smoke were slashed around by light undulating music, a mixture of strings and Celtic chants. The music would occasionally, if surprisingly, come to a stop, and a singular tune would play, with the remaining figures remaining immobile, stone like. A number of bureaucrats looked up at him from their desks; his sudden arrival having broken their monotony. Several stood up, curious about the sudden onset of a long forgotten tribe.

"May I be of assistance?" asked the floor's manager through the silent monotony. The druid leaned forward and spoke into the man's ear. The manager's eyes widened, and then marked by respect, he gestured towards a small room at the corner. The druid nodded back in appreciation and walked behind the man to the couch as the adjacent ministry personnel took a curious notice. The manager leaned down and spoke with reverence, he clearly did not feel becoming. "Would you care for some refreshments?"

"Plain water will be more than sufficient. Thank you"

"It's the privilege of the Ministry to have you here. All your wishes will be catered to." said the manager, bowing and moving away, curious and yet wary. This holy druid had business with the minister, and that was all that mattered. He had used commands that only Cabinet Level personnel would have had access to and had acknowledged the minister's existence in a casual manner, enquiring about his kids and parents. On this particular evening, the minister was already in the premises - in a room that was barred to all but the Unspeakables. But it was not the responsibility of the manager to inform that minister that the druid wished to see him, a request that the holy one had already made clear. It was to be a private meeting. When the minister wished to see him, the holy one would meet him. So be it, this was the reach of ministerial privilege.

"Send a house-elf down to the kitchens for some water," said the manager harshly to the page on the floor. "And tell it to ensure that it is from the fountains of Rhea. Make it damn damn quick. Its existence and forthcoming freedom will depend on it".

The druid sat passively at the table, his bloodshot eyes turning white, observing the foolish obeisance, neither condemning nor accepting but merely taking it all with the compassion of a grandfather looking at his brood.

Suddenly there was an intrusion. The room next door had a wand light and then suddenly extinguished. The lights on the floor went out, one fireplace at a time. Another wand was lit and finally a third, this one flashing out a bright green light. The brief series of flashes drew the attention of the druid. He moved his covered head slowly towards the last wand, and the lone pale well dressed man drawing in the light fog. Their eyes met; the druid's nod was almost imperceptible, a singular motion, and it was acknowledged by an equally light headshake as the wand lights went out completely. Seconds later, the pale dressed man's desk was lit on fire, and spells arose through the flames. Two ministry officials caught the jet of the first green lights that were emitted; they had no time to ponder over the end of their existence. Fires shot up across the surfaces of numerous desks, spreading quickly to all paper articles within the room; isolated eruptions of potential disaster. A number of officials screamed and tried to activate the fire control systems. Spells were spoken about to limit the spread of the flames, water conjured to drown it, with limited effect. The strands of the pulsing blue flame spread in circles around the room, creating spirals after another; trapping anyone fortunate to have survived the first few seconds. The ministry personnel on all sides leapt from their chairs as the flames started licking their legs. Anyone caught in the midst of the interior halo was consumed straight away, a rotting stinking carcass all that remained. The automatic fire control systems were triggered, and a wave of steam drenched the room. The flames started dying out, white embers all that was remaining. The fires were managed and herded away. The manager and his pages gestured wildly, shouting that all was under control; that the danger had passed. The music rose in intensity, the strings screeching across and cymbals highlighting the sombre mood. It was quieting down now.

Suddenly, there was a large disturbance, a greater eruption. A page collided with the druid's colleague, his head swinging wildly. A shift of an arm, and there was a wand at his throat. The pale well dressed man drew his right arm and swung it wildly onto the page's shoulder blade, his feet hammering into the page's abdomen, sending him reeling back onto a desk at the far end. The physical act of violence compounded the chaos. The manager roared and intervened, drawing out his wand in close proximity. He too feel way, stunned by a well placed kick to his throat and a stunner. The pale man flicked his arms, and desks arose and were hurled into the screaming figures near the fallen manager. Three other pages who had rushed to the conflict in support of their manager were shot down by carefully timed stunners. Men and women who had until recently been isolated in their collective monotony were now shrieking and thrashing their arms about, anxious to land a single spell. The fallen manager glanced across the room at the isolated cabinet office. The druid was gone.

The pale man levitated a few more desks and crashed them onto the remaining survivors; no time for finesse. There were only moments to go and these moments were everything.

The druid stepped through the door at the end of this cabinet room. He closed it off quickly and tried adjusting his eyes to the dimly lit narrow hallway. His right arm was stiff beneath the folds of his robe, carrying his wand. His left was free, gripping the walls as he reached forward. Down the corridor, no more than twenty-five feet away, a startled man sprang from the wall, his right hand plunging beneath his jacket to yank out a wand from an unseen shoulder holster. The druid nodded slowly, impassively, repeatedly, as he moved forward with graceful steps appropriate to his position. "Everything is peaceful, everything is quiet" he said softly, over and over again as he approached the man. "Are you lost, holy man? What are you doing here? Get out! This is no place for you! The ministry is being attacked" stated the guard, wary beside his door.

The guard had no chance. The druid swiftly pulled out his wand from the folds under his robe. He severed the man's wrists, and then arced the wand across the man's chest, splitting his ribs. The wand kept moving on, surgically severing the man's throat, and freeing the head from the torso. Blood erupted as the head fell down; the guard fell to the floor, a corpse.

Without hesitation, the druid muttered a cleaning spell, removing any traces of blood from his robes. A flick later and the door was unlocked. He raised his foot and crashed it into the door, racing inside to find what he knew he would find, already planned. There were four men, seated around the table with kegs of butterbeer, quills and flying memos. There were piles of paper in sight, the men seated lazily, at the end of a long day. As each man looked up in panic, their faces started contorting in panic. Two well dressed Unspeakables plunged their hands into their wand holsters, seeking to draw out their wands, while spinning away from their chairs. Another man lunged under the table, as the remaining one sprang up and raced futilely towards the walls, desperation etched on his face. An arc of green light raced across the room, ripping into the Unspeakables. Air whooshed, and they fell down, wands still drawn out; in shock. A red light flashed under the task, severing a weeping man's organs into melted goo. The man under the curtain shivered, certain of his death. He stepped out to acknowledge it, face it like he had expected a decade ago, with dignity. The druid had no time for mercy. One last flash of green and red and it was done. Blood gushed from fatal wounds as the man's skull was pierced and eyes punctured, his mouth torn apart, bright red in muted screams of death. The walls and the floor and the polished table glistened sickeningly with the bloody evidence of death. Everywhere. It was over.  
The druid surveyed his work. He bent down to the last men he had killed, brushing his hands across his head. He pulled and a few hairs gave way. He rushed out of the room, unbuttoning the white robe as he ran down the dim hallway; the robe was open by the time he reached the door to the cabinet room. He calmed himself down and removed all traces of blood. He cast aside his white robe, revealing a black suit underneath. He pulled the door back and walked inside, back to the chaos that showed no sign of dying down. It had been 60 seconds and his men were well trained.

"Let's go! The aurors will be here any moment. The alarms have already started going off" said the pale well dressed man. The lights came back on. The druid looked as pale as his colleague and as well dressed. His beard came off easily, but the long white hair remained.

"Get the hostages. Take them in front of us" The druid walked in front with his colleagues, aiming stunners into the crowd, provoking greater pandemonium. He came across to the elf, nodded and walked off. The elf left the jute bag as is and disapparated. The druid and his colleagues joined the panicked crowd at the entrance screaming to get out. Stunners were fired helter-skelter, making a narrow path through the crowd and into the night.

The four men rushed outside, into the darkness. They marched back across the alley, abandoning the carriage as is. They split up, each rushing off to a different apparition point.

The druid withdrew his arms into his newly revealed suit and pulled out a vial of potion. He crept back up into Knockturn Alley, and searched for a corner to lie down. One was found near Borgins. He slithered in, drinking the potion, having mixed his acquisition into earlier. A few minutes later, a tall black man, walked off Knockturn Alley and into the night.

Inside the cabinet room, the manager was berating his pages for being unable to summon the aurors quickly enough. The chaos had quietened down after the arrival of cavalry, leaving the personnel bewildered and shocked. Corpses were lying on the floor, an indication of a new era. They had acquitted themselves well, he thought.  
Suddenly, all thoughts of publicity and sorrow were swept away as he saw a white robe clinging on the floor across the room. The priest? The door! The Minister! The conference!. His breath felt short, his face drenched down with sweat. He called the aurors and they ran down the hallway, onto the enclosed room.  
The dimly lit corridor was drenched with the blood of the slain guard, his hands and head separated cleanly from this torso. With the conference room, there were four bloodied corpses, all in disarray, one specifically ensured to be so. He approached the body and the punctured skull. He wiped away the blood and stared at the face. "This is a massacre," he whispered. "The Minister is dead, the Ministry is dead. All is dead."

"Here look!"

"What?"

"This jute bag, it's got a body."

The manager lunged towards the body stuffed inside the jute bag in the cabinet room. The corpse was pale and drained of blood. The only point of recognition was its jet black hair, and a lightning scar underneath. The manager sprang across the floor.

"Jesus Christ!" he cried, his whole body trembling.

"He's dead. The Chosen One! Harry Potter's dead!"


	3. Chapter 3

**  
Chapter 2**

**London, July 31st 2009**

The sun fell behind the Auror Headquarters, an abandoned cathedral in Greater London. A flight of broomsticks was circling the area, all passengers disillusioned. The landing area was several hundred feet below, on top of a large rectangular house of heavy wood and thick glass. The personnel working in this building were heavily cleared, in times of war and peace. Each had been poked and prodded, had their personal and financial lives vetted heavily by the Unspeakables Department. None of them was lower than a Level 5 Magical Investigator and each had had at least a decade worth of experience prior to reaching this level. The location was unplotted and communications from the headquarters severely restricted. Trips to this place were never spoken off and the location never disclosed. The security was total, it had to be. This was a place where the defence of the wizarding world was strategised.

Five wizards on broomsticks made a gentle descent onto the rooftop, their landing smooth and without concern. The man in the middle was a civilian, slender, middle-aged and of medium height. He was dressed in a worn down brown suit and a white shirt. His careful grooming remained intact, despite the heavy winds. He was escorted by a uniformed auror. He followed the auror and they walked up a concrete path to a door on the roof. The civilian entered through the opened door. The auror stayed on the roof.  
"Nice to have met you, Mr Lupin," said the auror. "Someone else will take you to the facility and back."  
"You're not coming in?" asked the civilian.  
"I've never been in," replied the auror, smiling. "My task was to ensure that you were just you and to get you from Hogwarts to here."  
"Sounds like a waste of responsibility."  
"It probably isn't" stated the auror and stayed mum. "Then again, I have further duties to carry out. Goodbye. "

Lupin walked inside the hallway, onto a darkened corridor. He had been joined by well dressed Unspeakable, a burly man, who had all the signs of the Intelligence Service about him – quick and capable, and anonymous.  
"Did you have a pleasant flight, sir?" asked the young agent.  
"Does anyone ever, with four escorts tailing your every move?"  
The agent laughed. "This way sir."

They walked past the corridor, onto the underground passage and into the secured facility, until they reached a pair of large double doors enclosed in a shimmering bubble.  
Remus Lupin had not seen security of such a heightened nature, since working for the Order of the Phoenix in the Great War. To have something like this in peacetime was the height of paranoia. He had never understood the aurors, chalking them up to be paranoid vigilantes, preying on mere suspicion. The agent poked at the bubble with his wand, muttering a few words. The bubble dissolved. The agent went up to the doors and started tapping on the door.  
"Your guest has arrived sir" said the agent.  
"Thank you very much. Please let him in." replied a voice. Lupin was astonished. This was a voice that he had heard numerous times on the wizarding radio and in forums, its inflections developed at Hogwarts, and in the Ministry for decades. The doors opened and Lupin was let in. There was no time for him to adjust. A grey haired wizened old man with lined face of about fifty years got up from a large desk and walked across the room, his hand extended in invitation. "Professor. Thank you for coming. As you are no doubt aware, I'm Rufus Scrimgeour."  
"I'm certainly aware of your name, Chancellor. Introductions are not necessary at this stage."  
"Not chancellor, anymore I'm afraid. As of three hours ago, I'm the new Minister of Magic. As your shocked expression reveals, there's a lot of work to be done."  
"Please hold your questions for now, Professor" stated a third voice in the room. A young man, with red hair and a freckled forehead, stood up.  
"Lupin, I'd like you to meet your former student, Ernie Macmillan and now – the head of our foreign intelligence operation." said Scrimgeour.  
"Mr Macmillan is here to make sure that you are aware of the full context of this situation. If all this seems enigmatic to you currently, I'm sorry, that's all that I can offer to you at this stage. If Ernie would choose to expand on some of that.." said Scrimgeour.

"Now, just wait a minute! Everything that's happened to me during the past three hours has been an enigma, Minister. I have no idea why I was dragged out in the middle of the night from Hogwarts, asked to get on a broomstick, told not to speak to the Headmaster, get escorted by four aurors all the way to this place – especially when I could have simply apparated and now you're telling me you're the new Minister of Magic! I think I deserve some answers".  
"And you will have them, Professor. Suffice to say, you are in a position to be of extraordinary service to your country and to the magical world – exceeding anything that you might have achieved in the Great War or during your long and illustrated career at Hogwarts".  
Lupin studies the Minister's wizened face, unsure of his reply. "My career at Hogwarts has been rewarding and professional, but I doubt it would be called illustrious. I was looking for a long and unheralded journey to retirement."  
"Well Professor, you have an opportunity to quicken that process. And one that you are uniquely qualified to carry out."  
"Why so? In what way?"  
"Europe" stated the politician. "You were assigned the task of ensuring the disruption of supply to Voldemort from Europe, one that you succeeded at quite commendably. The contacts you developed there, the alliances you disrupted, had a major impact on the length of the Great War. Since your retirement from active service and departure into the academic world, your views on matters relating to intelligence and policy for dealing with the renewal of dark activity in Europe have been extremely valuable."  
"I appreciate your candour and your compliment, but there have been others. Surely Dumbledore would be far more qualified for whatever classified task you currently have."

"Let's be frank, Professor. Your contacts and your pivotal role in the past has made us very interested in you. Headmaster Dumbledore would be a far more visible envoy for this particular role – a role that requires discretion and subtlety – and we need his support for other purposes. And finally Professor, a lot of people trusted you. They still trust you."  
"I assume that trust is intrinsic to this opportunity, whatever it is?""Very much so. It can't be emphasised enough.""Then cut the bullshit and get on with it. What is the opportunity?""Alright." Scrimgeour looked over at Ernie. "You may go ahead."

"Thank you, Minister" said Ernie. "Professor, we need you to swear to absolute secrecy with regard to the information imparted to you here, in the interests of the security of the wizarding world. I'm absolutely serious about this. You will be prosecuted in a closed trial in the Wizengamot in the event of any disclosure."  
"How can I agree to a condition like this, let alone take an unbreakable vow without having a clue about what this information is and what my task could be?"  
"I will give you a brief overview and it will be enough for you to decide whether you wish to take upon the task. If you decide to not participate, you will be escorted out of here and back to Hogwarts. "  
"Alright. Go ahead."  
"Alright." Ernie spoke unerringly "We will be discussing certain events that have taken place in the recent and immediate past. The actions themselves have been buried."  
"I've lived through the Great War. We made many compromises that had to be buried. Circumstances change; judgements made in good faith yesterday are often a problem tomorrow." "Well put, Professor." said Scrimgeour. "Not completely, Professor. You are a man of words, one whose careful enunciation has varied meanings. You haven't agreed or disagreed to participation. You know the events that I speak of. You know the compromises we've made." objected Ernie. "So what is it to be, Professor? You want to sign on or be escorted out?"  
"One part of me has lived through this era before. I know the moral crisis that you face on a daily basis. The other part of me wants stay." Lupin paused, his eyes settling on Scrimgeour. "You've captured my interest, Minister. But it's a hell of price to pay for curiosity. But yeah, I'm interested."  
"I'm afraid we'll need to hear the words, Professor" said Ernie. "Do you want me to get the text?"  
"No that won't be necessary. I've done this before." replied Lupin. "I, Remus Lupin, fully understand that whatever is said in this room, I accept the condition of non-disclosure. I will speak to no one about any aspect of this discussion unless instructed to do so by the Minister of Magic. I further understand that in the event of disclosure and development of a loophole for this vow, I will exposed to prosecution at a closed trial in Wizengamot. I reserve the right to confront any accusers or any parties of this agreement in that closed trial. In the event of disclosure of this information via physical or mental torture, leglimency, and blackmail, this oath will be invalidated and prosecution opened." A flash of orange signified the agreement.

"Apologies for this, Lupin. You know the deal."  
"Anyway, moving on, Professor, you know about Lucius Malfoy?"  
"How could anyone not know? A right hand confidante of Voldemort, a murderous death eater who has about eighty brutal murders to his name. A corrupt hire-for-all killer with loose morality and lack of loyalty to any faction. The only major survivor from the Great War who wasn't caught or killed off. Our failure to capture him still rankles through any ex-Order member."  
"Correct. Professor. Any other details you currently know about his post war career?"  
"Well, he's randomly killed across the board, assassinating ministers in Europe, murdering numerous intelligence officials sent after him, looted a dozen wizarding multinationals, the jet set wizarding convict of our age. There's never been a pattern to his killings. Pureblood politics doesn't seem to play a major part in his ideology these days. Money is the only way to access. The highest bidder gets the highest service. A monster."

"And a monster that was nurtured by us." said Ernie." You remember how Lord Voldemort had seemed unstoppable in 1999. Lucius Malfoy put out feelers to us that he was tired of killing for Lord Voldemort. His motives were never explained in full detail. However, in sheer desperation, the ministry authorised a secret pact with Lucius Malfoy. He would deliver the horcruxes to Harry Potter for destruction, pinpoint the cache of Imperius Potions stored in London, act as an internal spy for the Ministry for tailing Lord Voldemort and provide intelligence with regard to numerous death eaters on our hit list. In return, he got to keep his fortune, and would obtain a full pardon at the end of the war. The ministry never intended to keep to that pact and he didn't expect us to. We sought to charge him immediately at the end of the war, but found him non-existent, half of his wealth taken with him. He had left his wife and son, back in old Blighty, with half his fortune to spend their lives comfortably. He then embarked on a career of murder and mayhem, offering his services to the highest bidder."  
"You can't be serious."  
"We are. It was a turbulent time, Remus. Our forces were disorganised and corrupted. Money was being used in unimaginable amounts to ensure that our forces remained in that state and any intelligence about us or the Order was leaked immediately." stated Scrimgeour.  
"In any case, Lucious Malfoy stayed away from British shores until recently and we stayed away from tackling him. He was an issue for European countries to resolve and for them to deal with. We sent out token forces to show our understanding and our initiative but never any serious intent."  
"So you just dumped our problem onto another country."  
"To put it bluntly – Yes. We had other issues to deal with in this country and one outstanding death eater who had no interest in us was good for us."  
"So why the sudden interest now?"

"Twenty eight hours ago, Ginny Weasley was killed by an Inferii in a public theatre, shot point blank using a muggle gun. Three hours ago, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt was assassinated in a brazen attack on the Ministry, along with three other Unspeakables. One hour ago, we received confirmation that a body found by the floor manager on the cabinet room was apparently that of Harry Potter."  
"What? You're telling me this now! You can't be serious. Why are we discussing this information here? Surely, we should be out there, reviving the Order and conferring with Dumbledore. My nephew's been murdered and you're having me sit in a conference room!"  
"Calm down, Remus. We're doing all we can that is necessary. As I said, it was the apparent body of Harry Potter. The real Harry Potter is currently safe and sound at this home in Canary Wharf. We will be conferring with Albus after this conference is completed. This information will be public tomorrow."  
"I don't understand."  
"As you are no doubt aware, Harry Potter left the wizarding world after the Great War to live life unimpeded as a Muggle. Despite his protestations to the contrary, the Ministry still took an interest in his survival and his well-being. We saw to his protections at work and at home, kept indirect tabs on his company of friends and girlfriend and ensured his protection. He was aware of these restrictions but was forced to agree to them as part of any agreement to let him be apart from the wizarding world. We were in charge of his protection from all magical threats"  
"I know. I was part of underwriting that agreement."

"Well, suffice to say, we failed at that agreement. Harry Potter's girlfriend was brutally murdered two days back at his home. The body found at the Ministry in a jute bag, is likely to be confirmed as a clone of Harry Potter that we had constructed as part of his protections. We protected him from Lucius but were unable to save his girlfriend."  
"Failed again, did you. He had warned against this previously. We had guaranteed his 't you have warned him of this threat? He's an able wizard himself. When can I meet him? Surely, this isolation needs to end for him?"  
"I'm afraid, quite obviously, he's not in a mood to meet anyone from the magical world currently. This threat was not highlighted in any intelligence that we received from Europe. Harry himself was not at home when the incident occurred."  
"So we're calling it an incident now?"  
"Yes, we are, Remus. The bigger picture is still coming to light."  
"The bigger picture? The last bigger picture I saw was of all my protégés from Hogwarts being slaughtered mercilessly before that last attack."  
"As I said Remus, it's the bigger picture for now."  
"Fine. I still don't quite understand where I come into this."

"Over the past 10 years, Harry Potter has adjusted quite well to the muggle world. His small inheritance apart, he has had a successful career until recently, working as a investment analyst for a large financial corporation in London. He's had a serious relationship with a girl from London for the past two years."  
"Well, you lot just ruined that life for him."  
"Not even close, Professor. I'm afraid we need his help more than anything else right now. This work will imply the abandonment of his current lifestyle and return to the wizarding world in private."  
"You think you can persuade him to drop his life, leave his dead girlfriend and come work for the Ministry, a decade after leaving the wizarding world?"  
"Not really. We can't but you can. You're his closest living relative, if not in blood, then in spirit."  
"But why Harry? Let him grieve, let him reminisce, his life is different now."  
"We need him to go after Lucius, Remus."  
"Lucius? You need a wizard out of touch for ten years to go after potentially the next dark lord? Have you lost your mind?"  
"Not quite, Remus. As you no doubt are aware, we've lost every Auror or Unspeakable we've sent after Lucius. These new atrocities make it imperative that we end his threat once and for all. Harry Potter was and is still quite a powerful wizard. He will be ably supported by the Ministry. But we need his expertise in tracking down Lucius and finishing him off. His success in the Great War against death eater factions leaves us with no alternative. There is simply no one else. This is not a pitched battle against a defined enemy. We need to work in the shadows and deal with the demons hiding there."

"So to cut it short – you want me to speak to Harry, convince him to forget the death of his girlfriend, remember everything about magic and then ask him to commit his life again to fighting another dark lord, when the reason he ran away was to get away from all of this."  
"As we said Remus, it is a unique opportunity which only you possess the unique talents to resolve. And I'm quite sure that the motive of revenge from Harry will make your life a lot easier. "  
"Fine. I'll do it. I won't like it but I'll do it, conditionally. I want to be involved with every aspect of any agreement that you make with him from now onwards. We won't make any secret pacts with Lucius or any other dark faction in connection with this. And when this is all over, you stay out of his life and mine."  
"Those are conditions that we can accept for now, Remus."

"Always with the tentativeness, Rufus? You are still a slippery politician."  
"We play the roles we were meant to play, Remus. You have your books and I have my words"  
"Alright. Where can I find Harry"  
"Ernie will escort you to his place." said Scrimgeour.

"Remus"  
"Yes"  
"Offer him my condolences, will you."  
"I'll try. But he won't take them."


End file.
